


I'm Not Dead

by asterCrash



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8497258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterCrash/pseuds/asterCrash
Summary: When you were a little girl you had a fear of spiders.You were told they felt no emotion, that their hearts never beat.You were never told that some spiders looked like men.A fix-it fic for Amelie Lacroix's origin story as the villainous Widowmaker





	1. Prologue

Alarms go off across the Talon base, you can hear them in the distance almost as clearly as the ones in your room. The compound is under attack. Your heart wants to beat faster, you can feel your panic response kicking in. The straps of the operating table hold you down, no matter how much you strain, and there is no one left to tell you not to bother. Boots thud all around you, echoing through metal corridors before the sound of gunfire drowns it out. Explosions start to ring out, strange sounds like electricity arcing through warm summer air, guns louder than guns have a right to be and the bestial sounds of combat unique to the Overwatch strike team.

They are coming, you realise, to rescue you.

You begin to laugh, and you don’t know why. You think it’s because you’re scared, but your heart doesn’t beat faster to let you know that you’re nervous. It wants to beat faster, but it can’t. You tug at your restraints again, eager to be free, to be anywhere else but here. Your laughter escapes you, and you worry that you’re having a panic attack. A side effect of what Talon has done to you, or the knowledge of what’s coming, you’re not sure but you are growing more certain.

Men and women scream and die under the assault of the Overwatch strike team. Someone yells out a banal catchphrase and the screams resume.

You’re struggling in earnest now, wanting to be away, wanting to be gone, wanting for them not to find you like this. Strapped down like a fly caught in a web. Powerless. In the weeks following your kidnapping it’s been all you’ve thought about. What it would be like when they finally found you. You thought it would take longer.

You wish yourself to be emotionless, you wish yourself to be calm. You need to be like them, like the heroes who are coming to rescue you.

When you were a little girl, you had a fear of spiders.

You were told that they felt no emotion, that their hearts never beat.

You think of your husband, surely leading the mission to rescue you.

You were never told that the spiders sometimes looked like people.

The sound of gunfire grows closer and you scream out for help.


	2. Six Months Earlier

_SELECT A HERO_

Hero Select > Widowmaker

Widowmaker isn’t a selectable hero yet.

Hero select > Mercy

Your name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, you are the chief medical officer for Overwatch, a global peacekeeping organisation. Your primary mission, both in Overwatch and in life, is to heal and protect the weak and wounded. A young woman sits across from you, though not as young as yourself.

“I walked into a door,” she says, though even that little movement makes her wince. She has bruises on both sides of her face and a contusion on her neck. She has refused to remove her top so that you could investigate further.

As you are frequently reminded, you are young. You hold the record for the youngest chief of medicine at a major hospital. You have been warned, frequently, that there would come a time in your life when your knowledge, your skill and your expertise could not compensate for the sheer lack of experience with people.

“I was clumsy, I walked into a door,” she repeats. Amelie has never, in your experience, been a clumsy woman. She glides into every room as if she was floating. You know a little something about floating yourself. “I just need something to help with the swelling.”

“I can assist,” you tentatively offer, “but I’m going to need to see the full extent of the injury.” You motion again at Amelie’s top. She’s obviously covering another bruise around her left bicep, and you don’t like the way she’s leaning to one side defensively.

She acquiesces, rolling the blouse up over her neck. Professional courtesy suppresses your instinctive blush on seeing the kind of bra you wouldn’t have the confidence to wear to the bedroom, let alone to a doctor’s appointment. Then again, as the chief medical officer, all your appointments are doctor’s appointments. You like to joke. In addition to the expected bruise on her arm, you can see splotches of black and blue all up Amelie’s side. You don’t joke about those.

“ _Mein gott_ ,” you say, “did he kick you?”

Amelie fixes you with a glare. “I. Walked. In. To. A. Door.” You avert your gaze back to your desk, where your Caduceus Staff rests on display. You pretend you don’t hear Amelie’s muttering, “ _salope allemande_.” You are a professional.

 

* * *

 

 

Hero select > Soldier: 76

Soldier: 76 is not a selectable hero yet.

Hero select > Jack Morrison

You’re not a hero, you’re just a soldier.

Your name is Strike Commander Jack Morrison, you lead Overwatch, a global peacekeeping organisation, in their never-ending fight to protect the world from chaos and destruction. It’s on your business cards.

“I trust Angela’s assessment of the situation,” your second in command reclines in a chair across from you. Her rifle rests on her lap, one of the perks of being a high-ranking member of an extra-national military organisation is nobody really questions you when you carry a gun everywhere.

“It just doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense to you, because you’re a man,” Ana replies. “Every woman on this base can smell that he’s bad news from a mile away. I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t beating her.”

“Gerard is the best man we have in the field against Talon,” you try to argue.

“Just because he’s a hero,” Ana cuts you off, “doesn’t mean he’s a good man.”

You don’t have a lot to say to that. The press is putting more pressure on Overwatch, and you particularly. The world isn’t fixed yet, and they blame their heroes for not saving them. As if you could fix everything. “What would you have me do? We stand him down and it’ll be open season on Western Europe.”

She tilts her head, fixing you with that look that makes you feel like she knows better. Maybe she does; you can lead people into battle just fine - it’s taking care of them in their down time you’ve never understood. “I don’t think we need to go that far.”  
In all your years fighting the good fight, you’ve never shied away from violence. That violence has usually been directed against the enemy.

“Maybe he’s been stressed lately,” you offer. “Some time away from the base might be good for them both.”

“Exactly,” Ana replies, “she’ll get him to shape up or not, it’s their marriage.”

“Good,” you say, turning to face the world map at the back of your office. Every watchpoint in the world has an office for you, and every one of those offices has a world map. Ink on paper, good quality stuff. Perks of being in command. “Good. What are we going to tell Dr. Ziegler?”

You get the feeling she’s staring at you with that eye of hers. Always unnerves you, like she’s sizing you up for a shot. You wonder if you could convince her to wear an eyepatch when you’re meeting like this. “I’ll take care of Angela.” You hear her inspecting some facet of her rifle, probably the sight. “I’m sure if I tell her we’re taking care of it that’ll be enough for her. The report?”

You tap a few keys on your commlink. “Never submitted.” The record is deleted. “You won’t tell Gabe?”

“God, no. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, I just-”

“It’s fine, this stays between us. Get Gerard that leave.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hero select > Tracer

The world could always use more heroes and you’re one of them! Your name is Lena Oxton, callsign Tracer, and thanks to your miraculous survival of an experimental plane crash, you’re now a full time hero for Overwatch, a global peacekeeping organisation and home to the good guys!

Your best friend Winston tells you that the fluctuations of your chronal accelerator are not related to the unique field of temporal destabilisablahblahblahblahblahblahblah so! You’re checking in with doctor Mercy to make sure that all your vitals are as tip top as they can be.

It’s three quick blinks from the chron’ dome that you call home to medical, but Winston insisted that you walk the whole way there until he figures out what’s causing the blips and the bleeps in your assisted ticker. Your normally bright blue chest piece has been dulled down into its standby mode, so you probably couldn’t blink the full way even if you wanted to.

You don’t manage to knock at the door before it opens and you’re left facing Amelie. You were not prepared to face Amelie today. You would have practiced. There would have been a training montage and a motivational speech and everything. You were not prepared.

“ _Excuse-moi, cherie_ ,” she says, shouldering past you and wow, just wow. Wow. She bumped your shoulder with her shoulder. That’s a friendly thing, right? You’re not sure if it’s a friendly thing. It seems like a friendly thing.

Dr. Ziegler is typing something up at her desk, her healing stick propped up between you and her like the world’s most tempting hurdle. She looks sad.

 

* * *

 

 

Hero select > Ana

Ana is not a selectable hero yet.

Hero select > Ana Amari

Your name is Ana Amari. You work for Overwatch. It’s a living.

Your daughter Fareeha has just sent you a photograph of a letter of acceptance into the Egyptian military. You delete the message. You have more important things to deal with than her passive aggression. If you’ve told her once, you’ve told her a thousand times that you didn’t want this life for her, but if she wants to disregard everything you’ve ever said then fine. You’re busy fixing the mistakes of another reckless young woman who got involved in a dangerous life she’d have done better to stay well away from.

Angela looks frazzled when you get in, re-ordering a scattered pile of paper. Too many people on this base insist on physical records when their lives would be so much easier with just digital. You close the door behind yourself and lean your rifle against it before approaching her desk. Angela still scowls at the presence of a weapon in her office. She’s very pretty when she scowls.

She knows, of course, why you’re here. Or why she thinks you’re here at least. You can tell in the way she averts her eyes from you, the look of concern that flits across her face. This must be her first time with something even remotely complicated socially. The life a doctor seems so simplistic to you, tell a fool not to smoke and watch him walk in front of a bullet, then collect a large salary that you never intend to use on account of working twelve hours a day. Only a few years old than your Fareeha, it’s understandable Angela would want the world to stay that kind of black and white. It’s so much harder when you have to see the shades of grey, have to stare them in the face until you feel like you’ve gone colour-blind. You don’t want that world for her, you don’t want that world for anyone.

You put on a smile and bring your hand up to her cheek, a compliment waiting on your lips before you tell her that everything is going to be okay now that mother Amari is here to solve all the problems.

 

* * *

 

 

Hero select > Mercy

You straighten your top, not bothering to hide the bite mark on your neck or the mess she made of your hair. You’ll be able to fix it all the second Ana is out the door, you reassure yourself. She likes when you leave the marks, “the marks of a job well done”, but you still worry about your reputation on base. So young, and with so much responsibility, you wouldn’t want people to think that you could be easily swayed by a superior officer with a pair of killer eyes and a laugh you can feel in all your vertebrae.

Her hand squeezes your thigh, and you feel grateful she’s going to be taking care of Amelie’s situation herself. You turn back to your mirror to clean up the smudge of your lipstick around the corners of your mouth. You see Ana over your shoulder, she puts a finger to her lips as she collects her rifle and heads out the door. She’s right, you decide, it’s good to be discreet.


	3. Cauchemar

Hero select > Widowmaker

Widowmaker is not a selectable hero yet.

Hero select > Amelie Lacroix

You realise, dimly, that you are having a nightmare.

You both see and are your sixteen-year-old self, at a party with your friends. You were and are celebrating your first time down the runway together. The taste of your future modelling careers was on every girl’s lips, and champagne flowed like a river. Other models, adults, and designers, and some hangers-on were all in attendance. You’d all primp and preen whenever one walked past, hoping to get noticed, hoping to get told you were what they’d been looking for.

You were the leader among your friends, every motion you made was mirrored by five copies, their outfits only as good as a reflection of yours could be. Your lips were richer, your eyes were sharper, your hair could not be more perfect but theirs could only be as perfect as yours. You felt powerful, you felt in control, the world was yours, what little of it existed around you.

You don’t remember exactly what they said anymore, no matter how frequently you’ve dreamed of this night. Of Gerard. The _gendarme_ your friend said, _putain_ , said another, but all you thought was _puissant_. A hero, he said, who fought with Americans and Germans and Egyptians. He worked for a global peacekeeping organisation. Overwatch. The war was fresh in people’s minds, victory even fresher, and the thought of a real-life hero showing interest in you overwhelmed your young mind. You scream at yourself as you take his hand when offered. You want to tear your hair out but instead you dance in his arms. You sip from his drink, sharp and smoky and stronger than you were used to. You let him take you home.

Time melds and blends and it’s your wedding day. You are twenty-two and Gerard’s friends are joking about what took so long. Your friends couldn’t make it to China for the wedding, there’s no one waiting for you at the other end of the aisle, only Gerard, only your fiancé. You love him, you remember, you loved him in this moment. Even though he wouldn’t let you design your own wedding gown, even when you begged him. He didn’t want your design to embarrass him in front of his teammates. He helped you pick one out instead, and made sure you saw the price tag. The friends who could afford the flights could not afford the matching dresses. You walked down the aisle alone.

It’s your wedding night and Gerard is tired, so he doesn’t listen when you ask if you can take it slow tonight. You want to scream, and you wanted to scream then as well. You loved him, back then.

It’s your first anniversary and he’s on a mission. He’s been on a mission all month. You’re so afraid you cry all day.

It’s your fifth anniversary and Gerard says you’ve let yourself go. You loved him.

It’s not your anniversary when he hits you the first time, but he makes sure you know it’s your fault.

It’s your birthday and he’s on a mission. You haven’t had such a good day in years.

It’s dinner time and he tells you not to eat that.

It’s time to leave but he asks you if you’re wearing that.

It’s eleven pm at night and he throws your designs in the garbage and tells you to get back to bed.

Widowmaker is not a selectable hero yet.

It’s eleven pm and he’s yelling.

Widowmaker is not a selectable hero yet.

It’s eleven pm and you yell back.

Widowmaker is not a selectable hero yet.

It’s eleven pm and his fist hits you again and again. He kicks you. You sleep there on the floor.

“I was clumsy,” you were never clumsy. “I walked into a door.”

You wake from the nightmare, covered in sweat, but you don’t scream. You lie very, very still, and very, very quiet. Gerard rolls over next to you and wraps his arm around your waist. You go back to sleep.

Hero select > Widowmaker

Widowmaker is not a selectable hero yet.

You are having a nightmare.


End file.
